Pure Instinct (Instinct thriller series)

by Robert W. Walker

  Another psychic photo from the more recent past now rushed in at her: Envisioning the crane lowering the body too quickly onto the wharf, Kim felt a sudden wave of revulsion on a primal level sweep over her as the body slipped and came to rest with a splat, like a tarpon hauled off a boat and onto the dock.

  “Get some more photos, Lieutenant! Then I guess we can wrap him; call in the attendants when Dr. Desinor here's finished, okay?” Jessica Coran's resonant voice and the ever-present hum and throb of the awakening city, its heart at a full beat, no longer disturbed Kim. She'd reached that level of being in which she might hear or see only on a psychic level, in a realm closed off to most humans. Her every conscious, outward sense was turned down, the world around her tuned out, while simultaneously her subconscious or inner senses— which ancients called the third eye—were turned up and tuned in. Fortunately, Jessica and the others had moved off and had not called in the ambulance attendants just yet. Kim, now in a trancelike state over the body, kneeled, her pose strikingly similar to Jessica's before her; her eyelids half closed, eyes rolling back, hands closing over the rosary beads, she silently chanted a mantra to herself. She'd learned to do so silently so as to not put off those around her, or to give the appearance that she was some ordinary fortune-teller with a deck of tarot cards and a Ouija board. She looked to the outside world and to that part of her which hovered over the scene and her own body like a woman in supplication over the deceased. Her third eye and her second self also saw a wondering, curious crowd of onlookers, none more intent than Jessica Coran herself, staring on. Only Alex Sincebaugh seemed distressed and unforgivingly skeptical, pacing now like a cornered panther, occasionally glaring at the body and the soothsayer and back again at photographers on the bridge, who'd begun a new wave of snapshots at the strange behavior exhibited by the psychic. Kim easily sensed Alex's distress over what he felt to be a Bamum and Bailey atmosphere orchestrated by Stephens, Meade and other brass.

  All around her, Kim had to fend off the remarks and taunts, both spoken and projected via thought, like piercing arrows directed at her but interfering with her procedure. There were no doors to close here, no shades to draw, no cushion between her and the public, no barriers to ward off the skeptical or the mental flares fired at her. The psychometric reading suffered in turn. She had come to find comfort in her props and in controlling the environment in which she worked. Maybe the lab had softened her.

  She cursed herself deep within her soul to find a solution. But the seance was awash in a sea of disbelief and twisted emotional cinders coming in at her from various sources, including Jessica Coran and P.C. Stephens as well as Alex Sincebaugh. Stephens had never actually wanted her here; she'd been pushed on the bastard by Paul Zanek. Stephens's secret desire was simply to have Jessica Coran follow him back to New Orleans. He had no real desire to have Kim. At least that was the garbled message she now received over several others entwining themselves snakelike about one another.

  Too damned many people here at odds with the situation, she told herself. She couldn't possibly focus, not here, not like this, and so she removed herself from trance, opened her eyes and stared down at a new horror awaiting her. Something's alive inside the corpse, her mind shouted.

  She saw the odd, slick, reflecting ripple of movement first, like an unseen shadow out the side of the eye, odd but definitely there. It was a little glimmer of movement in the intestines deep within the body cavity. Maggots? Yes, a nest of them, swirling about now, covering the entire abyss before her. But these were psychic maggots, not real, nothing to be alarmed about. She didn't know what the image meant or why it had come to her, but she held firm to the real world, breathed a sigh of relief and saw that the maggots were indeed gone. There was no way maggots could've gotten at the body anyway, given that it was in the water all this time. So, just an illusion, part of her vision trying to take form? A symbolic representation, lingering on after her trance? But again she saw movement inside the corpse, making her start. Was this some easily explainable muscle spasm that would garner laughs all around from Dr. Coran and Sincebaugh and the others should Kim so much as twitch again in response? She maintained her stoic posture, but suddenly this snakelike movement shot to life, leaping from the body toward her. She started and fell back, tripping on the wet planks.

  “Jesus!” she shouted. “What is it?”

  Everyone was instantly staring at her where she lay, the oozing, slick eel slithering over her legs, leaving a trail of gruel on her pants leg. The six-inch eel, a baby by Louisiana standards, which had embedded itself inside the body, now slapped furiously about the wharf until it found an escape, flailing itself back into the Mississippi and sinking quickly into the depths from which it had come.

  Still startled and shivering, shaken to her core, Kim was suddenly grateful to feel someone's strong arms go round her; the sensation of warmth and caring that careened through her entire being from the man's helpful hands served to help her regain her composure along with her feet. With the forgotten rosary beads, cross and crystal amulet dangling loosely in her hand, she felt herself being turned like a toy top in the large, caring grip, fully expecting to meet Ben deYampert's brown eyes.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Desinor? Are you all right?”

  It was Alex Sincebaugh's eyes she gazed into, and when her eyes found his, she realized how completely sincere and concerned Lt. Alex Sincebaugh was, although she was unsure just why.

  She also realized how many eyes were on them, and so she quickly pulled away, saying, “Yes, yes ... fine. I'm okay; rascal just caught me off guard's all.”

  “You shouldn'tve let yourself get talked into this case, Dr. Desinor.” His protest was almost a whisper, a confidence between them.

  Alex, for his part, continued to stare deeply into her mysterious eyes, thinking how like his nightmares this scenario with the eel had been, except here it was one large, giant worm instead of thousands of small ones.

  “Oh?” she finally replied, breaking the bond created between their eyes. “I suppose I should check with you each time I decide to take on a case? Is that right?”

  “Someone like you... it's just—”

  “Best I stick to missing-persons cases? Dogs and cats up trees? People wishing to be reunited with their dear and dead departed? What?”

  “I'd think you'd want to spare yourself the... the discomfort of... of such a...”

  “Heart-wrenching case?” she quickly filled in for him, imagining he'd like the macabre humor as much as any cop might. “Don't worry yourself, Lieutenant. I can pluck at the old heartstrings with the best of 'em. Might even teach you a tune or two.” She worked up a smile for Sincebaugh.

  He didn't return the smile, and he didn't care for the brand of humor she was doling out. “Yeah, something like that,” he sullenly replied.

  “Sorry if I don't live up to your image of the damsel in distress, Lieutenant, but there you have it. Thanks for the helping hand, but don't try to tell me how to run my business, okay?”

  “All right, if you're sure you're not hurt. Guess I was wrong to put myself out on your behalf, Doctor.”

  “As I said, I appreciated the hand up.... “

  “Sure... whatever you say, Doctor.”

  She felt his ire and frustration, and turning away from him, she also felt him leave. Her oval eyes now returned to the victim. Her hands clutching the rosary, she felt little or no psychical movement about the body, merely a handful of shrouded, dark flashes of energy, smoky images of the knife-wielding murderer, the monster's rage so strong and overpowering that all else was blotted out. The killer was striking out again and again at the victim, and she felt his presence. The monster was close, somewhere nearby, very much within the confines of the city. But the image was as momentary and as fleeting as Sincebaugh's moment of concern and compassion had been.

  Nothing was forthcoming, and she knew that pressing it here and now would prove futile. The eel and Sincebaugh had taken the day. Unfortunately, sh
e'd gleaned nothing of great import for P.C. Stephens and the others, and if things went as they appeared, Jessica Coran and scientific observation had won the first match.

  Jessica came over to her now, not to gloat but simply to ask if she were finished, telling her that the morgue attendants were waiting and that the body would be at her disposal at the morgue later, should she wish to continue there. She even offered a consoling word, saying, “Perhaps in the solitude of the morgue, you know ... without so much to distract or disturb you...”

  Taking a deep breath, the sun glinting stonily in her eyes, Kim Desinor replaced her dark glasses on her face and backed away from Jessica with a swift nod, returning to the sanctuary of her escort's car, where Ben deYampert told her he'd be happy to see her to her hotel.

  Sincebaugh had disappeared in the crowd, tugging someone away from Commissioner Stephens. Kim's eyes followed Sincebaugh out of curiosity, and now she realized that Alex was suddenly ensnared in what was a quiet but bitter discussion with an unknown man.

  “Sure, yes, Detective,” she replied to deYampert. “Say, who's that with your partner over there?”

  “Oh, that'd be Captain Landry, ma'am.”

  “I see. Maybe on the way to the hotel, you can tell me what you know about the previous victim found—where?”

  “At the Chantilly Pier in Gretna,” he replied. “Tell you all about it.”

  “How's your partner going to get back?”

  “Don't worry about Alex. Landry and him have some differences to iron out.”

  “Me, you mean?”

  “Hey, it's nothing personal with Sincy...Alex, ma'am. Just that he doesn't believe in changing horses midstream, if you get my drift.”

  “And what about you, Ben? You consider me a risk?”

  “Me? Well, ma'am, I told Alex that seems to me that we're not riding a horse but a two-humped camel at the moment, and if switching from a camel to a horse midstream has any merit, then by God... well, I'm willing to give it a try.”

  She laughed lightly at this. Ben she liked instantly. “Tell me about Gretna, and after that tell me about Victor Surette.”

  “Surette? You know about Surette?” Ben's voice rose audibly, displaying his amazement on his sleeve.

  “I know a little about him, yes.”

  “Really? You thinking like Alex?”

  “I don't know. What's Alex thinking like?”

  He hesitated, holding the door for her. “Ahh, maybe best not to discuss it just now with you; it's kinda between partners, you know.”

  “Sure... sure, I can respect that.”

  “Good ... good ...”

  He marched around the car, grimacing at himself as he went, and in a moment they were pulling away from the wharf and all its excitement, heading for the bridge that would return them lakeside. To the locals, to simplify life, there were four directions in New Orleans: lakeside, riverside, uptown and downtown.

  Once over the Mississippi again, a few blocks into the bustle of the city, she said to Ben deYampert, “Alex thinks that Surette was the first, doesn't he.”

  “What, huh?”

  “Alex believes that Surette was the first Queen of Hearts victim, doesn't he, Ben?”

  “Christ, Dr. Desinor, you're good. Got to hand you that. How'd you come to that reckoning when you've been in the city for what, less than two hours?”

  14

  And I find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands.

  —Ecclesiastes

  Jessica Coran marched up to Stephens and said, “I want to see yesterday's victim immediately.”

  Stephens turned from the reporters who were pushing forward, attempting to get a word from the woman they only knew as Special Agent Jessica Coran of the FBI. He took her aside while his aides dealt with the press. “Wouldn't you care for a break, something to eat maybe, a chance to unpack?”

  “Right now, no, just yesterday's body. Can you get me to the morgue without a lot of hubbub and press on my heels, Commissioner?”

  “Sure,sure ... we can arrange that easily enough. You've got to transport the evidence of this crime scene anyway, right?''

  She nodded, agreeing to the protocol that said she must at all times be under guard so long as she was transporting medico-legal evidence.

  “I must say I was a bit disappointed in our psychic friend this morning,” he confided in what seemed an unnecessarily conspiratorial tone.

  “Yes, well... no one bats a thousand, as they say, and being upstaged by the eel... well, it effectively shut down the show, didn't it? What is it actors say about working with animals?'' Jessica immediately regretted the theatrical comparisons, knowing that Kim didn't deserve this and wondering why she felt so compelled to view the psychic detective as her competition.

  Stephens now led her to a police car, ordering the uniformed officers there to see that she and her evidence arrived safely and efficiently at the precinct, where every item would become part of a manifest of murder. The integrity of the evidence depended upon a scrupulous cataloging of each article and substance she'd collected at the scene, all of it then placed under lock and key to maintain the integrity of the data.

  This was quickly done after a ride across the city, and from the evidence room, it was a short walk to the morgue via a tunnel that ended at the lower depths of the Tulane University Hospital extension, a highly regarded state-of-the-art teaching facility.

  Inside an hour and a half, she was standing over a stainless-steel, revolving slab on which yesterday's nameless victim lay cold and earthen to the touch, the flesh and features turned to a claylike caricature of what they had once been. Into the room stepped Dr. Franklin Wardlaw, and for a moment the large man with his piercing, steel-gray eyes simply stared over his mask at Jessica as if she were lost.

  “The autopsy was only begun yesterday when I was interrupted by your superior Meade, P.C. Stephens and a political hack by the name of Fouintenac,” Dr. Ward law began, his voice like a biting metal file in her ear. She'd ostensibly replaced the man in his own hospital.

  She didn't know quite what to say, but she could empathize with the scene he described. “Removed while in the middle of an autopsy? That's unconscionable, really.”

  “Fouintenac—whom I've never seen before—did as nice a job on me as this poor slob got.” He indicated the decapitated body lying before them. “I was curious about the decapitation, you know, since it was such a departure from the other victims and—”

  She agreed instantly. “My thought too, absolutely.”

  “So here I was, staring down at the wounds, when P.C. Stephens had me bodily removed. My lawyers are fighting that action now, and have gotten a cease-and-desist order against the city and Commissioner Stephens until we go to court. The injunction holds for the time being, Dr. Coran, and so we are stuck with one another, I'm afraid... at least for now.”

  She didn't miss a beat, replying, “In the meantime, then, I will assist you as best I can, Dr. Wardlaw.”

  This only made him stare even harder at her, as if he suspected her of some false pretense—and to a degree, he was correct. It was a standard line meant to place the local M.E., pathologist or crime lab technician at ease. Still, she felt some compassion for the older medical professional who had slipped from grace. So she continued, saying,”And I can only hope you will accept my presence here in the spirit in which I've traveled here, to offer my full cooperation and that of the FBI.”

  “You have no idea the embarrassment, the shame they've caused me. Well, I'm not taking it lying down, and Stephens will be sorry for the day he sided against me.”

  “I was M.E. in Washington, D.C., some years before I became an agent, Dr. Wardlaw. I know about the ugly political aspects of the M.E.'s office.”

  “You were on staff at what hospital?”

  “Washington Memorial.”

  “As a junior pathologist?”

  “No, no... I was their M.E., the designated city coron
er for D.C.”

  “Really? I must say that's impressive for one who looks so young.”

  “I started young, and believe me, all my life I've witnessed how narrow and stupid the bureaucrats can be.” She quickly recalled for Wardlaw's benefit a time when even her father was “let go” by a city as its M.E. In this respect, New Orleans was far behind the times; no municipal employee, including the mayor of the city, ought to have the right to summarily fire the city medical examiner. It smacked crisply of conflict of interest. An M.E. should answer to only one god—scientific truth. Knowing little of Wardlaw other than what she'd read in his reports, Jessica withheld any personal judgments about the doctor. However, it was true that his paperwork, at least on the Hearts case involving Victor Surette, was lacking. Her attitude seemed to have surprised Wardlaw, who was prepared with an angry, hell-raising speech but had not prepared a conciliatory word. He hemmed and hawed a moment before Jessica added, “Dr. Wardlaw, I'm glad to see that you've chosen to fight. There're too few of us M.E.'s in the country willing to fight for our basic rights as is.”

  “Your concern, Doctor, is deeply touching.” His bitterness had dissolved, any earlier sarcasm now dispelled by her charms. Now only his annoying smoker's cough and drinker's breath filled the room.

  “It was never my intent to have you removed, sir, I promise you that.”

  “Very well, then. Shall we go to work before that snake doctor they hired comes poking around?”

  She smiled behind her own mask at his theatrical allusion to Kim Desinor. “My sentiments exactly.” In fact, she'd rushed here to get to the body before Kim had a chance to do her psychometric reading.

  “Science can't possibly outmaneuver the ramblings of a psychic, and certainly we can't hope to outpace the witch,” continued an irate Wardlaw. “Science and truth take too much time for the press, the public and the powerful concerned with holding office.”

  “I don't know her well enough to call her a witch, Dr. Wardlaw,” replied Jessica. “However, it was my intention to get as far and as fast as possible here before she arrived, yes.”